The Affair
by SweeneyOCD98
Summary: John's marriage has only led his repressed feelings for his mad detective to emerge. What happens when he cannot control his desires anymore, and how can he face his wife? Set during "The Hounds of Baskerville"
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I'm so glad to be writing Johnlock again and I promise I'll finish the story this time. The last one just drove me too insane. My mistake was trying to make a clever case. No way I can do that :P**

**So, this will be more character-based and such. ****And yes. This will have smut in later chapters. To those who aren't huge smut fans: don't worry! It won't be disgustingly graphic.**

**I hope you enjoy!~**

* * *

"Bye, Mary! I'm off to see Sherlock."

Really. It was getting ridiculous as to how many times Mary Watson had heard those two sentences over the course of her marriage. She knew John and Sherlock were best friends but, _damn. _Her husband's visits to his friend were becoming more and more frequent. She thought it was perfectly fine when they had a case (after all, she would have never met John if it hadn't been for a case), but they solved their last case a week ago. Within that week, John visited Sherlock three times.

Oh, did she forget to mention that during the first three months of their marriage (when John didn't visit Sherlock at all), he was depressed? Because he was. He was pale and his left hand shook. When Mary suggested that he go see his old pal Sherlock, she didn't expect for his visits to eat into their marriage.

She sighed as she heard the door shut to her and John's house. Sometimes she wondered what went though that man's head…

* * *

John tried to clear his mind as he strode over to 221B Baker Street. He's been finding himself spending more time with Sherlock than his own wife.

_What a great fucking husband you are, _he scolded himself. It honestly wasn't fair to her. She was wonderful and deserved all of his attention. Hell, she even got Sherlock's approval. That itself was remarkable. But what could he say? He, as much as he would deny it to anyone that asked, missed living with the mad detective.

"Well, that's natural," said Lestrade when John came to him with his troubles. "You two lived together for such a long time. You can't expect to adjust right away."

And he was right. Adjusting would take a while. However, John had been married and moved out for eight months. Surely, he should have gotten used to it all by now, right?

But, to be honest, this wasn't John's main concern. Oh, no. Not only did he miss Sherlock, but a desire had emerged. A desire to, well, _touch _the man.

He first noticed it when Sherlock was shouting at the television a couple months ago.

"You idiot!" he yelled at the woman on the screen. "He's _obviously _cheating on you! Just looks at the scuffs on his shoes!"

John giggled and Sherlock's outburst and gazed at him. Sherlock's brows were drawn together in frustration and his hair was hanging in front of his eyes. The man was due for a haircut. John lifted his hand to brush the stray curls away, but immediately froze. _What the fuck am I doing? _

Anyway, back to the present. A warm feeling filled his being when he looked up at his former home again.

Mrs. Hudson smiled when she opened the door. "Hello, dear. Here to see Sherlock?"

"Yep," he smiled warmly. He did miss Mrs. Hudson, too. She was sort of like a mother to him and Sherlock.

"Go right upstairs, then," she led him inside. "He's been playing his violin all day. He won't eat anything I bring up to him."

"No point in trying," he told her. His chest fluttered with excitement as he climbed those familiar seventeen stairs. "Sherlock?" he called when he entered the living room.

Sherlock was standing by the window, his back facing John, holding his violin in playing position. He was in his red dressing gown. He never did bother to dress properly without a case. "John," he acknowledged over his shoulder.

John shut the door behind him. "How are you doing, mate?"

"It's only been two days since you last saw me, John." He turned around and moved from the window to sit down at his chair. "It's unlikely that anything noteworthy would happen to me within that short amount of time."

John sighed. He had been in the flat for a grand total of a minute and already Sherlock was being his arrogant self.

"I was just asking," John sat in his—or at least was—his chair opposite of Sherlock. "Still no case?"

"Not one interesting enough," Sherlock huffed and plucked a string from his violin.

"And no new bullet holes in the wall. I'm impressed."

"Can't be bothered to get my gun," he plucked another string.

"Well, that's…" he trailed off.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "John?"

John inhaled deeply. "Sherlock," his expression was grave, "care to explain why the hell I smell nicotine?"

Sherlock's lips tightened into a thin line. Damn. "You must be mistaken, which isn't surprising. Ordinary people often-"

"Don't bullshit me Sherlock," John cut him off. "I know exactly what I smell."

Sherlock put down his violin and brought his knees up to his chest. "You're wrong."

John leaned forward and inhaled again. "That is definitely nicotine." He totally ignored the faint smell of cologne coming from Sherlock. Nope. Didn't even notice. He looked at his friend's forearm. No nicotine patches. "Why the hell didn't you just use the patches?"

"Not enough," he mumbled, apparently giving up on defending himself.

John got up to look for the cigarettes. "You were doing so well."

"That was when you were still here," Sherlock mumbled into the fabric of his dressing gown.

"What was that?" John called from the kitchen.

"I said that you'll never be able to find them," he said clearly. "Honestly," he allowed himself to smirk, "if you want to find them so badly, use your _deduction _skills," his words dripped with sarcasm.

John glared at him. "You know what? I'll do just that."

Sherlock's smirk was accompanied with a playful glint in his strangely colored eyes. "Humor me." He stretched out his long legs and leaned his head back on the chair, closing his eyes and folding his hands under his chin.

John stuck out his tongue at the frustrating man.

"Don't be childish, John."

"How the hell did…No, don't answer." Back to preventing Sherlock's health from deteriorating. "Well…Since I'm not here anymore, you don't have a reason to hide them in some complicated crevice."

"Good," his lips flickered into a grin. "Go on."

"So, you would have them in a place that's easy for you to access. Somewhere convenient."

"Yes," he droned. "Is that all?"

"No, hang on. Um….But, you know I visit often. So you don't leave them in plain sight."

"Conclusion?"

"Somewhere I can't see, but is convenient for you…" John stood in thought for a minute or so before he smiled. "The pockets of your dressing gown."

Sherlock reached inside and pulled out the pack with an impressed smile. "Very good, John. You're getting better. Extremely slowly, but surely."

A compliment was so rare from Sherlock that John felt positively giddy. "Well, are you going to give them to me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"They're bad for you."

"That obviously doesn't concern me."

"Sherlock!"

"If you want them," he put the pack back into his pocket, "come and get them."

John's cheeks tinged pink. Sherlock couldn't of known how suggestive that was, right? If John put his hand in the pocket, his hand would brush Sherlock's thigh and come into dangerously close proximity with his crotch. Sherlock's expression was only slightly amused. Not suggestive. Not seductive. He couldn't have known. That was one of the areas in which he was spectacularly ignorant.

"Are you planning on responding?" Sherlock's deep voice cut through John's thoughts. "If not, I'm going to smoke right now."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

"Don't."

"I will," his hand moved to his pocket.

In an instant, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and shoved his other hand in the pocket. John's hand closed around the pack of cigarettes. He smiled in success and was about to take them away when Sherlock's hand tightened around his own. John looked up and his eyes widened when he realized how close his face was to Sherlock's. The calculating eyes were studying him; their intensity entrancing him. Oh shit. This was not good. He became aware that his hand was, indeed, at Sherlock's thigh and near his groin.

He looked at their entwined hands realized just how big Sherlock's was compared to his own. He was also very warm. _I thought the man would be like ice, _John thought.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "John? What are you staring at?"

John quickly pulled out the pack and smiled nervously. "Ha. I, I got them." Damn. Sherlock would definitely notice that stutter.

Sherlock stared at him confusedly. He looked like he wanted to say something. Since when did Sherlock keep his mouth shut?

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock blinked slowly and then shook his head. "Oh, nothing," he waved his hand in an attempt to feign nonchalance. He smiled. "You do realize that's not my only pack?"

John shot daggers at him. "Are you serious?"

Sherlock's Cheshire grin widened. "But I must commend you for your valiant effort, Doctor."

"You bastard," he threw the pack at his head. "Have your damn cancer sticks."

Sherlock shrugged and threw them across the room. "I don't need them. I'm not bored anymore."

John really wanted to punch him in the face, but settled for throwing a pillow at his head. He repressed a shiver when Sherlock's deep laugh rumbled through the room.

* * *

John returned home that night around 10:20. Mary sighed when she looked at the time. "How's Sherlock doing?" she asked.

"Fine," John hung up his jacket. "Being the same insane ass he's always been." Despite the name-calling, John had a warm smile on his face. A smile that, Mary noted, John only wore after being with Sherlock.

She bit down a disappointed sigh. "That's good."

He put his arm around her. "Something wrong?" He nuzzled her neck with his nose.

"Nope." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Why?"

John's eyes studied her face. _He's even trying to deduce like him…_Mary fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze.

John broke his stare. "Sorry. Just zoned out there I guess." He kissed her lips and brushed her blonde hair with his fingers.

"Hmm." She grabbed his hand and smiled. "Let's go to bed."

While he was trying to fall asleep that night, John couldn't help but remember how warm Sherlock's hand was encasing his own.

* * *

**Well, should I continue this? **

**Please review!~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yaaay! Obviously, I'm continuing this. Thanks a lot for the follows and reviews. I made this chapter a bit longer than the last :D  
**

**You may have seen I added something to the description. Well, read and see why :P**

**I also changed a genre from Drama to Angst because I think this story has more angst than drama.**

**That is all.**

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

After that whole incident with the cigarettes and brushing against Sherlock's thigh with his hand, John made a conscious effort to spend more time with Mary. For two weeks, he walked home from work everyday without any diversions. He had to admit that it was difficult to walk by 221B (coincidentally, it was on his way home) without knocking on the door. If he had ever bothered to look up at the windows of his former flat, he would have seen piercing eyes staring down at him everyday without fail. But, of course, John was not the most observant of people. On the weekend, he stayed in with Mary and watched crappy TV or engaged in more…_vigorous _activities.

Oh yeah. After the tenth day of not seeing Sherlock, John had a rather unsettling dream.

**A few days ago…**

_John was in his bed on his side, peacefully at ease. He smiled when he registered the sensation of arms wrapped around his chest. He placed his hands on top of Mary's…except they weren't Mary's. The hands were freaking huge and pale with exceptionally long fingers._

"_What…"_

"_Good morning, dear," a deep baritone whispered into his ear. John became rigid and quickly turned around. Sherlock was lying next to him, shirtless at the very least, and smiled warmly. "Is something the matter, my love?" He tightened his grip around John._

"_Sherlock!" he tried to push away._

"_Hush, love," he purred and puckered his lips for a kiss…_

In reality, John bolted upright in his bed and gasped. _What the fuck was that?! _

"John," Mary awoke with a moan, "was it a nightmare?"

John swallowed hard and nodded. "Uh, yeah. I'm just going to…use the bathroom…" he stumbled out of bed.

In the bathroom, he splashed cold water onto his face. He looked into the mirror. "Where the hell did that come from?" he whispered to himself. It was so weird. _Sherlock used endearments… _He shuddered. Why did that happen? Yeah, he missed Sherlock, but to dream being _in bed _with him? John rubbed his eyes. It was probably just a freak thing. It didn't mean anything.

Nothing at all.

**Back to the present.**

John came home from work and found Mary playing with their bulldog (which Mary owned before she married John), Gladstone*. Gladstone barked and wagged his tail when he noticed John.

"Oh, hello," Mary smiled. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Hello," he kissed her pink lips. She smelled like flowers. "How are you today?"

"Just fine," she ran her hand through John's short hair. "You?"

"Alright," he shrugged. "Not particularly good or bad."

She nuzzled his neck and kissed his lips deeply. She giggled when John moaned and pulled back with a smile. "Want to go out? Breathe in some fresh air in the park?"

He smiled and held her hand. "Sounds lovely."

"Can be bring Gladstone, too?' she asked hopefully.

He chuckled. "Of course."

All during his stroll with Mary and Gladstone, John couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He looked around a couple times, but saw no one even glancing at them. _Weird. _When they were sitting on a bench, John could practically feel eyes boring into the back of his head. While Mary was rubbing Gladstone's belly, John looked at the bush a few feet behind the bench. He blinked when familiar light eyes stared into his. He then scowled and got up from the bench. He walked a few steps toward the bush and looked behind it. Nothing was there. No stalking detective.

"John?" Mary's voice beside him made him jump.

"Yeah?"

"What are you looking for?" she raised an eyebrow.

Shit. What was he supposed to say; _I was just wondering if my insane best friend was spying on us_? Definitely not. Oh shit. Mary was giving him her you-better-not-bullshit-me-look.

"I chased a squirrel away. 'Cause, you know how Gladstone chases them and then he'll drag one of us along with him by the leash."

Smooth, John. Fucking smooth. After living with the world's most brilliant man for over a year, you would think some of that intelligence would rub off on him. You would think.

She didn't look totally convinced, but said, "Okay. Whatever. Ready to go home?"

Later that evening, John sent a text to Sherlock.

_Were you at the park today? - JW_

He received a reply almost instantly.

_Why ever do you ask? –SH_

John could perfectly imagine Sherlock sending the text with a smug smile on his face. Oh, that bastard was _dead. _

_You were spying on us._

_Are you accusing me? –SH_

John never understood why Sherlock had to sign every. Single. Text. It was yet another annoying habit of his.

_Yes, I am. Answer my question._

_Does it matter? –SH_

_YES!_

_Then yes. I was. Don't ask why. You wouldn't understand. –SH_

John threw his phone across the living room in frustration and his left hand began to shake slightly.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked.

"Sherlock is being a twat. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"That's not what I meant," she murmured, looking at his hand.

John followed her gaze and then clenched his hand into a fist. "I don't know. It just happens sometimes."

"I thought you said it stopped along with your limp." It was more of a question than a statement.

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well it's obviously happening again."

Mary said nothing else. She knew John's military service was a touchy subject for him. But she had been noticing that John's tremor had been gradually getting more frequent since the start of their marriage. _Can't be a coincidence, _she sighed to herself.

The next afternoon, John groaned when he got a text from Sherlock. "Do I dare read it?" he asked Gladstone, who just rolled on his side in response. Despite himself, he read the message.

_New case. Will you come? –SH_

He perked up. They hadn't had a case in ages! He got an excited flutter in his chest. "But the bastard still spied on us. Why do you think he did it?"

Gladstone just blinked.

_Why should I? _he sent

The response he received a couple minutes later somewhat surprised him.

_I want you there. –SH_

John gave up. _God help me. _He left a note for Mary telling her that he was going over to consider helping Sherlock. He was still kind of pissed about the whole spying for no good reason thing.

When Mrs. Hudson answered the door, she said, "Oh, John! I'm surprised you haven't been here more often."

"I wanted to spend more time with Mary," he said honestly.

"Good man," she smiled. "Treating your wife good like the gentleman you are. But Sherlock sure has been a lot of trouble lately."

"He has?" he shut the door behind him.

"Oh, yes. All he's been doing is playing the violin and looking out the window. When I try to force food into him, it's like he doesn't even know I'm there."

"Doesn't sound too off from what he's normally like," John assured.

"But he's got this sad look on his face all of the time," Mrs. Hudson frowned. "You know he tries to bottle everything up, but people close to him know he's bad at it. It kind of reminds me of how he was with that whole incident with that woman—Irene, was it?"

John's eyes darkened at the sound of her name. He never liked that woman. Never did, never will. He wanted to punch her in the face every time he saw her. He was never so glad for a case to be over. "Right. Well, he's apparently got a case now. He should be better."

"I hope so."

John entered Sherlock's flat and found a young man sitting opposite of his friend. Sherlock was dressed in a suit and, John could tell, was containing his excitement.

"John, this is our client, Henry Knight."

The young man with egg-shaped said, "Hello."

After hearing the details of the case, John was kind of glad Sherlock was so dismissive of it. The poor guy obviously had problems that Sherlock couldn't fix.

"Mr. Holmes," he pleaded desperately as Sherlock walked into the kitchen, "they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He walked back to Henry. "Say that again."

"I found the footprints. They were-"

"No, no, no. Your exact words," said Sherlock sternly.

A little taken aback, Henry repeated with hesitation, "Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound."

Sherlock looked like he struck gold. "I'll take the case."

John looked up in surprise. "Sorry, what?"

"We're going to Dartmoor, John."

"So, you'll come?" Henry asked, just as confused as John.

"Twenty year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Sherlock ran into his room.

John was used to Sherlock being weird, but he just wasn't making sense at this point. John and Henry looked at each other.

"I don't know what changed his mind," John said, "but he'll help you."

After Henry left, John went into Sherlock's room.

"Sherlock?" Damn, how was he going to say this?

The detective was busy throwing clothes into his suitcase haphazardly. "Shouldn't you go home and pack, John?"

"Sherlock, I'm not going with you." There. He said it. That wasn't so bad.

Sherlock froze and looked up. "What? Why?"

John swallowed. "I am sorry, but I have a wife."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Irrelevant."

"I can't just leave her for God knows how long to go hunting for bad guys with you."

"It was never an issue for you before."

"Yeah, well, I can't keep doing it. Besides, most of our other cases were in London and I was able to see her."

"Mary understands how important cases are and has said that she doesn't mind you working with me."

"Sherlock," he huffed and crossed his arms, "I am not going to Dartmoor with you to hunt for the supposed Hound from Hell."

Sherlock's full lips formed a childish pout. John remembered how Sherlock's lips puckered to kiss him in his dream a few nights ago. He pushed it far away from his mind.

"Don't you pout at me, Sherlock."

"I'm not pouting," he stuck out his plump lower lip. "This is pouting."

John felt his left hand shake every so slightly. "Stop it, Sherlock."

"Why?' he asked innocently. "Does it bother you?"

John couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Sherlock's eyes flicker to his hand for a split second.

"Obviously, yes."

"Why?" he stepped closer, his lip still in a pout.

John absolutely did not want to bite those lips. Nope. Because he, thank you very much, was heterosexual and married. Sherlock's calculating eyes began to study him. Oh no. He was not doing this.

"Fine!" John rushed out of the room. "I'll go with you. Happy?"

He could _feel _Sherlock smirk behind him. "Very," his voice rumbled.

Still not facing Sherlock, John said, "I'll go home, tell Mary, pack, and be here later tonight."

As John walked out the front door, he heard Sherlock say, "Good. You know how lost I am without my blogger."

Mary was there when John got home. "Hi," she smiled. "Are you going to help Sherlock?"

"Seems like I have to," he sighed.

"Oh, don't lie. You know you love those cases," she jabbed his arm playfully.

He smiled. "The thing is, we have to go to Dartmoor."

Her face fell. "Oh. For how long?"

"No idea. As long as it takes for Sherlock to solve it. I told him I would ask if it was okay with you."

She grinned. "Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

"We'll be away from each other."

Mary hugged him tightly. "We can still text and call each other, right? It's fine, John. Besides, we both know you need those cases."

"I guess," he mumbled into her golden hair before pressing a kiss to it. "Thank you, Mary. I promise I'll text you everyday."

"You better." She said this lightheartedly, but meant it. The thought of John being alone with Sherlock for days was a little unsettling. _But it's not like they'll be sharing a room._

"We have to share a room?!" John felt his stomach drop.

"Problem?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "We did live together for over a year, John."

"But we never shared a bloody room!"

"Oh, relax," he looked completely unfazed by this. "It's not like we're sharing a bed."

Wrong! When they got into their room, there was a double bed with beige blankets just waiting for them.

John glared at the taller man. "Not sharing a bed, huh?"

"It's not my fault," he narrowed his eyes at John. "The man said this is the only room they have left." He put his luggage down on the edge of the bed. "We'll have to deal with it."

"I am not sharing a bed with you, Sherlock."

"Then sleep on the floor," he said casually. "You know I don't sleep often, so it's not like I'll be in the bed very often."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "This cannot be happening…" He feared his dream, or rather nightmare, would come true.

Sherlock looked even more annoyed than John. "Honestly, you're acting like you have to sleep with the hound itself."

"If Mary knew-"

"Why would you tell Mary?" he spat. "For God's sake, John, you're married and the fact that you are _still _worried people may assume things about you is rather telling, isn't it?"

"What the hell are you implying?!" he clenched his fists and got up in the infuriating idiot's face.

They glared at each other, Sherlock's pale eyes like ice. "Nothing," he said quietly. "Forget I said anything."

"I need air," John growled. "I'm going for a walk."

Sherlock frowned when the door slammed shut. "Stupid," he smacked his forehead. He flopped down on the bed, not bothering to take his coat off, and sighed deeply. "When will you learn to shut your mouth?' he mumbled into the pillow.

* * *

***Watson owned a bulldog in the original stories, but obviously this show didn't do that, so I gave it to Mary. I got the name from the Robert Downey Jr. movies.**

**Did you like it? I hope so. Tensions are rising ;)**

**Please review!~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yaaay, this chapter is slightly longer than the last!**

**Sorry for taking a bit to update. I forgot to mention last time that I was going on vacation for five days :P I went to Hershey and had a great time!**

**So, to the Whovians reading this...Peter Capaldi! Admittedly, I had NO IDEA who he was when they announced him. But I'm excited, nonetheless. **

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

When John returned to his and Sherlock's bedroom, the detective was curled on top of the blankets of the bed, his back facing John. _That bastard is definitely sulking, isn't he? _

"Sherlock?"

He curled in further on himself.

John rolled his eyes. "Stop being childish," he said irritably.

"I'm being childish?" Sherlock sat up and crossed his arms.

Oh. Here we go. "Yes, you are."

"I'm not the one who stormed out of the room because I couldn't control my anger."

"I'm not the one sulking alone in my room like some teenage girl who was punished by her parents."

"I'm not sulking. I'm just _bored._"

"Bored?!" John raised his voice. "The only reason why we're here is because we're on this bloody case!"

"But I'm obviously not working on it right now, am I?" Sherlock spat and flopped down onto his pillow again.

John took a deep breath and counted to three. He had to control himself. He texted Mary.

_Sherlock is such an insufferable twat._

She replied, _What has he done this time?_

He ranted to Mary about how childish, stubborn, and downright annoying Sherlock was, to which she replied with soothing words. He got most of his anger out pounding his fingers on the keypad.

Sherlock knew exactly who John was texting and about the content of those messages. His annoyance morphed into anger, then hurt, and then restless energy. He sprang up and began pacing the carpeted floor of their room. Why did John always have to be so defensive? Sherlock just did not understand it. He must have paced for longer than he thought because when he looked back at John, he was in his pajamas.

"You are _not _going to keep me up all night with your pacing."

John was dressed in a white T-shirt that fit snugly around his stocky, built frame and pajama pants that pooled slightly at his ankles because of his height. Sherlock felt a foreign warmth in his chest.

"You hear me?" John asked when Sherlock spent a minute just looking at him.

Sherlock snapped out his gaze with a scowl, "Yes, of course." But, upon looking at John's attire, Sherlock realized something. He opened his mouth to say it, but hesitated and closed it.

John looked at him questioningly. He saw the faintest tint of pink dust Sherlock's cheeks. He refrained from arching his eyebrows. Was the wonderful, arrogant detective _embarrassed?_

"I," Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat, "have just remembered that I lack the appropriate apparel for this time of day."

John squinted at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Pajamas. I don't have any pajamas."

"What? But I've seen you walk around in pajamas and your dressing gown multiple times."

"But I don't actually _sleep _in pajamas."

"Then what do you sleep in?"

Sherlock sighed in annoyance. "Must I spell it out? Do you recall when I was clad only in my bed sheet while video chatting with you from the flat?"

"Yeah. So?"

"I was in that sheet because I did not feel like dressing after I woke up."

After a pregnant pause, John's eyes widened. "No, you do not."

"I do."

"You're joking."

"I wish I was."

"Damn it, Sherlock! Why?!"

He shrugged his thin shoulders. "I never felt the need for sleepwear."

John put a hand over his forehead, again forcing himself to calm down. "You…sleep naked."

"We have already established this." Sherlock replied coolly.

"You are not sleeping naked next to me." This could _**not **_be happening. He was not about to sleep in the same bed with his naked, male flatmate. Their skin would not awkwardly brush under the covers. He would not see Sherlock's naked body. John felt his face burn at the thought.

"Ah, I knew you would have a problem with this. But really, it's not a problem. I don't mind and-"

"_I _mind, Sherlock!" John yelled probably loud enough to wake the people in a few adjacent rooms. "It's just…no. Friends do not sleep in the same bed, number one, let alone unclothed."

"You won't be naked."  
"That's not the point."

"I don't understand your problem, John," his annoyance was growing by the second. "It's not like you're sexually attracted to me."

That gave John an impossible mixture of relief and anxiety. "Right. Absolutely right. I'm not."

"Then what is the problem?"

"It's just something people don't do."

"Just imagine it's _Mary _who's next to you instead of me. That should fix you up."

John clenched his fists. "What did you just say?"

"If you are so against it, I'll wear underwear," he totally ignored John's anger. "Is that in the social norms?"

"Not exactly," John sighed, giving up. "But it's better than nothing." He got into bed and cocooned himself in the blankets. He was damned tired from arriving to Dartmoor and from being so angry. He wanted to bash Sherlock's head into the wall. Repeatedly.

When Sherlock came out of the bathroom, he was, as he said he would be, in his underwear. His black, tight-fitting underwear. John's eyes roamed Sherlock's surprisingly built frame. His pale skin seemed to glow in the low light and, oh god, he had _such _long legs. John realized he was checking out his friend and turned over abruptly.

"I thought you said you never sleep," he muttered bitterly.

"I'm coming to bed because I'm apparently forbidden to pace," John felt the mattress sink in, "but I never said I was sleeping. I have a case to think about."

"Before you said you were bored!"

"That was then. This is now."

John never wanted to kill the man so much in his life. "And to think I actually started to miss…" He cut himself off as soon as his brain registered his own words.

He felt Sherlock shift and tensed when Sherlock's warm skin brushed against his back. Shit.

"Miss what?" his quiet baritone broke the silence of the night.

"Nothing at all," John closed his eyes and refused to turn his head toward the man in his bed. "I'm going to sleep. If you wake me up, I swear Sherlock, you will regret it."

"I have no intention of acknowledging your existence for the next eight hours."

"Good."

But, John was as tense as could be. He was hyper-aware of Sherlock's proximity, his body heat, his breathing. How could he possibly fall asleep with that man next to him? He decided to do as Sherlock said try to imagine that it was Mary in bed with him. That fantasy lasted for about a minute. It was no use. At the most, John slept for twenty-five minutes that night. Sherlock, of course, spent the entire night absorbed in his thoughts.

* * *

At 7:00 in the morning, Sherlock said, "John? I know you're awake. You have been for the majority of the night. Get up. Time to work."

John's eyes burned from the lack of sleep. He said nothing and grabbed his phone. He texted _Good morning :)_ to Mary.

Sherlock was glaring at him from the bathroom.

Now, John was used to Sherlock having crazy ideas. But breaking into a top-secret military base? That was certainly new. John would be a liar if he said the idea didn't excite him, though. The nervous tingle in the back of his neck, the possibility that they could get into some pretty big trouble. It was so…._invigorating! _

"So?" John asked Sherlock as they walked to their car after nearly getting caught.

"So?"

"What was all that about the rabbit?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead turning up his coat collar dramatically. This action accentuated his sharp, prominent cheekbones. John stared at them for a moment, and then scoffed. "Oh, please. Can we not do this, this time?"

"Do what?"

"You being all mysterious with your…_cheekbones," _he said the word in repugnance, "and turning your coat collar up so you look cool." He got into the car.

A bit taken aback, Sherlock responded, "I don't do that."

"Yeah, you do!"

Sherlock touched his left cheekbone. The Woman had made a remark about them, but now John? He looked into the rearview mirror of the car. Were they really that prominent?

"Stop checking yourself out and drive, Sherlock," John crossed his arms.

Sherlock made an indignant sound in his throat.

_Sherlock really is an ignorant bastard, _John sent to Mary.

M: _What's he done now?_

J: _He's had the bright idea to bring poor, terrified Henry out to the moor._

M: _The moor_? _Be careful, my love._

John smiled warmly. _I will, my sweet._

John could feel Sherlock's eyes burning into the back of his skull. He turned around to see Sherlock staring at him. "What is it?"

Sherlock just walked past him. "Stop texting," he growled lowly, his coat sweeping behind him as he walked briskly.

Henry looked at John and shrugged. "Don't know what's gotten into him."

John shot daggers at the back of the tall bastard's head. He turned to Henry. From what he could make out in the darkness, it looked like he was about to faint at any second.

"Sometimes I wonder why I listen to him," John whispered to Henry.

"He's kind of got an authoritative presence, I guess," Henry whispered back. Sherlock was several feet away and was out of auditory range. And even if he could hear them, he made no sign of it.

"Yeah, with that damn long coat of his."

Henry laughed quietly. "Yeah. Aren't those things out of style?"

"I thought so," John grinned. "That stupid coat and blue scarf. Even the way he looks is infuriating."

"How so?"

"He's got those damned cheekbones and eyes. God, I hate his eyes. I swear, they send a shiver down my spine every time I look into them." When Henry didn't respond, John looked at him. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he blinked. "I just never noticed his eyes."

"How could you not? They're like this striking blue or grey, or green. They can't even decide on a color."

With no malice, Henry asked, "Do you often look into his eyes?"

Before John could sputter out some sort of response, a bird cawed. He jumped at the sound and looked back. He took a few steps toward the sound. When he turned back, Sherlock and Henry were gone. "Shit," he muttered.

* * *

Sherlock stomped along. Stupid John. He couldn't go for more than two hours without texting Mary. He should know. He counted.

He decided to stop thinking about John's stupidity. "I met a friend of yours," he said to Henry. "Dr. Frankland."

"Oh, yeah. Bob, yeah."

"He knew your father, but he works at Baskerville."

"Yeah?"

"Didn't your dad have a problem with that?"

"Well, mates are mates, aren't they? I mean, just look at you and John."

Sherlock stopped walking. "What about us?"

"Well..." Crap. He definitely didn't want to offend the man who was trying to help him. "He seems like the type to settle down, you know? Have a wife, a couple kids."

"He has a wife," Sherlock forced the words out of his throat.

"Oh, he does?"

"That's who he keeps texting," he said bitterly.

"Well," Henry scratched his head, "he's here with you. That must mean something."

Sherlock stared at him in puzzlement. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I suppose." Henry looked away from Sherlock. "We're here…Dewar's Hollow."

The hollow was filled with mist and seemed even darker than the rest of the area. Sherlock climbed down into the hollow with grace with Henry stumbling behind him. The moment Sherlock's calculating eyes laded on pawprints, a loud howl made him whirl around.

"Oh, my God, oh my God, oh my God," Henry repeated in a panic.

Sherlock stood rotted to the ground, looking up into glowing, red eyes. A chill slithered down his spine and his heart beat rapidly in his ribcage. "John?!" he looked around him. "John?!" Damn, where was he? He had been so angry he hadn't even noticed his disappearance. He pushed past Henry and climbed out of the hollow.

John was relieved when he found Sherlock and Henry again, but, "Are you two okay?"

"We saw it!" Henry said frantically. "The hound! Sherlock saw it, too."

"I didn't see anything," Sherlock spat.

"What? You must have!"

"I didn't see _anything!_"

John knew something was off about him, but didn't say anything. There was no use in talking to Sherlock when he was like this.

* * *

He made sure Henry got home alright and then headed back to his and Sherlock's room. When he entered, Sherlock was sitting on top of the bed in a kind of fetal position and staring at the wall.

"Poor Henry is convinced he's seen some monstrous hound," John shut the door behind him and took off his coat.

Sherlock continued to stare at the wall. Something was definitely wrong.

"Okay, then," he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Well, let's just see if anyone has a really big dog-"

"I saw it, too, John," Sherlock barely spoke above a whisper.

"You what?"

"I saw it," he turned his head to look at John. His eyes were glassy and wide. "A gigantic hound," he gasped out.

John suppressed a smirk. "Now, really, Sherlock…" He saw Sherlock close his eyes and hug his knees.

Sherlock smiled without humor. "Look at me," he murmured. "I'm afraid. I've always tried to detach myself from…_feelings," _he spit out the word. "But look at me. I'm shaking, John!"

"Sherlock," John put his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Sherlock snapped.

John drew his hand back. He pushed down his hurt. "Okay…Sherlock, I need you to take deep breaths and try to-"

"There is nothing wrong with me, do you understand?!" he clenched his teeth.

"Fine," John stood up, missing the look of desperation in Sherlock's eyes. "Why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend."

Sherlock grimaced. "I don't have friends."

John felt like he had just been punched in the gut. _What? _After everything they had been through, Sherlock didn't even consider him to be a friend?! John's fists shook and he swallowed. "I wonder why." He walked out of the room as quickly as his legs would allow him, slamming the door unnecessarily loudly.

Sherlock pulled at his curls. "You're so stupid,' he scolded himself. "Stupid, stupid." He sniffed miserably. Suddenly, the room seemed dark. Too dark. He buried himself under the blankets and shook violently. He buried his face in his pillow. "Please, come back, John," he whispered to the empty room.

* * *

John quietly opened the door about forty-five minutes later. He just sat outside the whole time and texted Mary until he cooled down.

_You should try to talk to him, _she had told him. _You know how proud he is. He doesn't want to admit how afraid he really is. _

And John decided to listen to Mary, of course.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he saw a lump under the covers. Was Sherlock actually sleeping? He took off his shoes and padded to the bed quietly. He gently lifted up the covers to see Sherlock indeed sleeping, but he was trembling and looked distressed. His eyebrows were furrowed together and he would occasionally draw in a shaky breath through his lips. _Nightmare? _

John got into bed as gently as he could, watching the terrified, brilliant man. "You really are scared," he whispered. He couldn't just lie there and watch this. John knew as better than most how terrifying nightmares could be. He hesitantly gripped Sherlock's shoulder and rubbed circles with his thumb.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here. And I don't care what you say. I'm your friend."

Sherlock's trembles began to slow down, but he whined low in his throat.

John moved his hand to Sherlock's curls (tousled from sleep) and stroked them. They felt like silk. He pushed a stray curl away from his forehead. John began to full-blown pet Sherlock's hair. Sherlock was lying still now and the lines in his face evened out.

"That's it," John smiled. Now, Sherlock looked serene and almost…cute. He traced one of his cheekbones and cupped Sherlock's cheek with his hand. Sherlock sighed contently and John's smile widened. When he realized what he was doing, he turned over and blushed. He was not dealing with this now.

During the night, John's arms wrapped around Sherlock's thin frame; which would be a delightful surprise the next morning… ;)

* * *

**I'm trying write this so you know what point of the episode we're at, but not totally rewrite the episode. We have all seen it, after all, and it would get boring to read.**

**So, things may be heating up soon. Hehehe...**

**Please review!~**


	4. Chapter 4

**So this chapter is around 200 words longer. Yay!**

**Ugh, do you guys have to go back to...you-know-what soon? I am not finished my summer assignments. I've wasted time writing fan fiction. Oh well. :P**

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

Sherlock awoke around 6:45 in the morning. He opened his eyes and saw the morning sun streaming through the curtains. He grumbled and closed his eyes again, nuzzling his pillow with his nose. Sherlock may not have slept often, but he was in no way a morning person and hated getting out of bed.

But, something was off. Something was warm around his bare torso. He opened his eyes again. _Oh no…_ He turned his neck to see John's arms wrapped around him, still asleep. Sherlock buried his face in his pillow. No, no. This isn't good.

What should he do? Should he worm his way out of John's embrace? No, it was likely that John would awake before the job was done and give his whole "I'm not gay!" speech he loves to throw around. Should he just lie still and hope John rolls over? It seemed like the only suitable option. John did tend to sleep a lot. He shouldn't wake up for a couple more hours or so.

Sherlock swallowed and took in a deep breath. John's arms made him feel so very warm and secure. He never was a huge fan of physical contract…but this was _John. _His breath tickled the back of Sherlock's neck, sending tiny shivers down his spine and increasing the rate of his heartbeat.

He bit his lip. How many times had he dreamt of being held by John? Too many to count. It wasn't until John married that Sherlock realized just how much he cared for the doctor. His doctor. He felt disgusted with himself. Didn't he learn that caring was not an advantage? Apparently not. Sherlock sighed miserably. Of course John would only hold him when he wasn't aware of his actions. _He's probably dreaming he's holding Mary. _

He would never want to hold Sherlock.

So, he might as well enjoy the fell of John spooning him. It's not like it would happen again. He felt John shift and wrap his arms tighter and shuffle closer. Sherlock's eyes widened when he felt John's morning erection against his ass. Sherlock's cheeks felt like they were on fire. To his horror, his own body was responding. He shivered. _Control yourself! _

John, just starting to emerge into consciousness, wrapped his arms tighter around…what was he holding? He felt curly hair tickling his nose. And, barely awake, he smiled. "Mmm, Sher…" he slurred. He lazily rubbed his erection against Sherlock.

Sherlock stopped breathing. What? _What?! _His heart thumped powerfully in his chest. John was thinking of him?

John felt content. He was in a comfortable bed with his arms around Sherlock. Wait. Sherlock?! His eyes snapped open to see a mop of dark chocolate curls and a long, pale neck. "Fuck!" he sat up and withdrew his arms from Sherlock's thin frame. His jaw dropped when he realized he was hard. Shit!

Sherlock felt his heart sink. Why did he think anything different was going to happen? "Good morning to you, too," he mumbled, not daring to look at John.

"Sherlock," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Care to explain why I woke up in that position?"

"You tell me," he stared blankly at the window. "I awoke to find your arms around me. It was not my doing."

"Why didn't you take my arms off?!"

"I would have woken you," he kept his voice calm. "Isn't that considered rude?"

John really felt like punching him. How could he seem so calm? "Rude? Sherlock," he sighed. "Just…no. Okay? Just no." John was deeply disturbed by how good it felt to have Sherlock in his embrace.

The pain of rejection overwhelmed Sherlock. He curled in on himself and shut his eyes tightly.

John realized that maybe that wasn't the nicest way to react. Besides, Sherlock didn't actually do anything. It also wasn't his fault that John had an erection.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" John asked when he looked at the idiotic genius, his voice now concerned instead of annoyed. Sherlock only curled up tighter. "Sherlock," he put his hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It really wasn't _your_ fault that _I…._cuddled," they both winced at the word, "you in my sleep."

"Quite," Sherlock mumbled, John's hand like fire on his bare shoulder. For the first time, he desperately wished he had pajamas.

Sherlock's skin was smooth under John's palm. He rubbed a small circle into his shoulder before becoming aware of his actions. With some reluctance, he let go. "Oh, um," he cleared his throat, "did you have anymore nightmares?"

Sherlock finally sat up and faced John, hoping his cheeks weren't too pink from John's touch. He cocked his head to the side. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah, don't you remember?"

Sherlock's stare said he didn't.

"When I came in last night, it seemed like you were having a nightmare."  
Sherlock vaguely remembered the glowing eyes of the hound invading his dreams. But, more prominently, he remembered dreaming of John. He could almost feel John touching him in his dream. Unless…

"Did you make any move to comfort me?" he asked.

"Well," John started uncomfortably, "I couldn't just let you suffer through it."

Sherlock smiled warmly. "That was very much appreciated."

John's Sherlock-to-English translator interpreted that as "thank you." He smiled in return, enjoying the rare warmth in Sherlock's features. His clear eyes held a playful twinkle and his smile, his rare, genuine, smile, warmed John's heart to no end.

Sherlock's phone vibrated on the bedside table next to John, breaking their little moment. Sherlock glared at the device. Just when he thought they were getting somewhere. He leaned over John to get it, resulting in him presenting John a fine view of his toned ass. John blushed. _Why the hell am I blushing at the sight of his ass?!_

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock leaned back with his phone in his hands. "What?" he asked absentmindedly as he read the text message.

How was John supposed to articulate his dilemma? _Oh, nothing, Sherlock. It's just that your ass was close to my face and it made me blush for some reason. _

"Who is it?" John decided to change the subject.

Sherlock threw his phone across the room. "Only Mycroft checking on me. He treats me like a child."

"Well, you pretty much are."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and John laughed. "Very nice, John."

Sherlock had a theory, but needed some materials to test it. "I'm going to check up on Henry. Stay here."

"What?" John asked as Sherlock hopped off the bed and got dressed. "You don't want me to come with you?"

"I'll only be a moment," Sherlock shimmied into tight trousers.

John flopped back down on the bed. "Fine."

After a few minutes of just lying there, John's phone vibrated. It was Mary. He felt utterly ashamed of himself when he realized that not only did he not miss her, but he had completely forgotten about her. He stared at the ceiling.

He had some serious thinking to do.

* * *

When Sherlock and John walked into the lodge a little while later, the duo was surprised to see Greg Lestrade standing by the counter, smiling at them brightly.

Sherlock was not pleased. "What are _you _doing here?" he scowled.

"Oh, nice to see you, too," Lestrade rolled his eyes. "I'm holiday, would you believe it?"

"No, I wouldn't," Sherlock snarled.

"Hello, John," Lestrade greeted.

"Greg," John smiled pleasantly.

Sherlock looked at John like he head ten heads. _Greg?_

"I heard you were in the area," said Lestrade. "What are you up to?'

"I'm waiting for an answer, Inspector," Sherlock crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"

"I told you. I'm on holiday."

"You're clearly just back from your holiday; you're brown as a nut!" he waved his arm as a gesture regarding Lestrade's skin tone.

Now Lestrade was really annoyed. "Maybe I fancied another one," he sassed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?"

"Now, look-"

"What would Mycroft have to do with this?" John questioned.

"He sent me a text that I didn't answer so he sent my _handler _to spy on me."

"Handler?" John turned to look at Lestrade.

"You must be going incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself Greg?" he asked incredulously.

It took John a second to process that one. "That's his name!"

"Is it?" the dense detective asked in shock.

"Yes," Lestrade glared at him. "You never bothered to find out. And," he added with a hint of resentment, "I don't just do what your brother tells me."

John was really confused now. "You know Mycroft?"

"Of course I do. No one is allowed to be within ten feet of his little brother without being spied on, don't you know that?"

Sherlock's arms were still crossed and he was grumbling under his breath.

"Also-"

He stopped talking when Sherlock shot him a menacing glare.

John remembered something he found yesterday and, ever breaking awkward moments, said, "Actually, you might be the man we need."

"He is?" Sherlock asked.

"I picked it up yesterday and wasn't sure if it would be important," he fished through his coat pocket. He pulled out a receipt. "That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant."

Sherlock smiled. "Excellent."

While Lestrade was dealing with the shop owners, Sherlock decided to go forth with his theory. He handed John a cup of coffee.

"What's this?" John asked when it was placed into his hands.

"Coffee. I made coffee," Sherlock replied quickly.

"Why are you…?" He saw the disappointed look on Sherlock's face and gave in. Damn it. "Thanks."

Sherlock smiled at him. John recognized it to be his fake smile. What was he hiding? He sipped it and grimaced. "I don't take sugar."

Sherlock pouted, sticking out his lower lip. John noticed just how pink and full Sherlock's lips were. They were slightly feminine, actually. He wondered what it would feel like to have that plump lower lip between his teeth. John whipped his head the other way and drank the coffee.

Sherlock, of course, noticed John abruptly become uncomfortable and turn away. What was he thinking?

The two were so lost in their thoughts that they barely realized what was going on when Lestrade said, "You nearly drove a man out of his mind!" to the owners.

John put down the now empty cup of coffee. Sherlock smirked.

"You know, he's secretly pleased you're here," John told Lestrade before Sherlock caught up to him.

"That's nice," Lestrade grinned a bit.

"When you were talking about Mycroft, you were about to say something but Sherlock cut you off. What was it?"

"Ah," he looked around to see if Sherlock was near. In a low voice, he told John, "Mycroft does want me to look after Sherlock. He trusts me with him."

"Why?"

"Because I was the one who got him involved at the Yard. That got him off the drugs."

John's eyes widened. "You're the reason Sherlock quit?"

"A bit indirectly, yes. Why'd you think he overreacted so much when I went in the flat for a drugs bust?"

Sherlock walked up to them and the conversation was over.

"We're going back to the base," Sherlock stated once Lestrade left.

John felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was Mary asking how he was doing. He sighed. He really needed to get his act together for not only his sake, but for Mary's and Sherlock's.

* * *

John was trapped inside the lab, sitting in the corner of a cage. He hadn't felt this terrified since Afghanistan. He felt like he was about to take a heart attack. "Please, find me, Sherlock," he whispered into the phone. "Please." A shadow approached his cage. "It's here," his hands shook.

Suddenly, the lights were on and it was Sherlock who opened the cage. "Are you alright?" he put his hand on John's shoulder.

"Jesus Christ, it was the hound!" he got out of the cage and paced manically. "It was…It was here! You must have seen it!"

Sherlock fought to repress his smirk. "It's alright."

"No, it's not!" John yelled. "I saw it! I was wrong!"

."Let's not jump to conclusions," he said smugly.

"What?"

"There is no hound," he said seriously. "We have all been drugged."

"Drugged?" he tried to get his breathing under control. "With what?"

"I think it's in the sugar."

"Sugar? How do you…" he trailed off, his eyes becoming wide with realization. He then clenched his fists.

"What?"

"Sugar…I don't take my coffee with sugar…"

Sherlock stepped back. He hadn't anticipated John putting the pieces together. Sherlock yelped when he was pulled down by his scarf,

"You drugged me!" John growled, glaring into his flatmate's wide eyes with a scowl. Sherlock blinked in surprise. Their noses were nearly touching, but John was too angry to care.

"It was necessary," Sherlock whispered.

"God," John shook his head, "that's all I am to you, isn't it? An experiment!"

He remembered what Sherlock said last night, _I don't have friends! _The anger he felt last night was reborn. That's all he was. Sherlock's test monkey.

Sherlock frowned. "John, I needed to test-"

"I don't care!" he pulled tighter on the dark blue fabric. Sherlock was a bigger man than John, but the former soldier was much stronger. John was breathing heavily through his nose. It was taking all of his willpower not to beat the living shit out of the man. "After all I've done for you," he said quietly, "and I'm not even your friend."

Sherlock's eyes softened in understanding. Of course. "John," Sherlock put his hand on top of John's (which was still clutching his scarf, by the way). John's eyes flickered down to their hands for a moment before glowering into Sherlock's again.

"You have to know I wasn't acting like myself last night."

"Yeah. You were an even bigger dick than usual."

"I felt _doubt, _John. That never happens to me."

"No excuse," John's dark eyes were loosing their fire. "I always drop everything I'm doing to come and help you," his hot breath tickled Sherlock's skin. John watched Sherlock's Adam's apple bob in his pale, elegant throat.

"Why the hell do I put up with you?" he whispered so softly that Sherlock almost missed it. His knuckles were white from gripping the scarf. "Why am I willing to die for you?"

Sherlock lowered his eyes. Here it was. The moment when John finally came to his senses and ended their friendship. He had tried to steel himself for this event for years. But, alas, Sherlock felt like his supposedly nonexistent heart was being ripped from his chest. "I haven't a clue," he croaked. He closed his eyes and hesitantly leaned his forehead against John's, whose pulse increased in response, "I'm not good at this, John," he whispered, fearing that his voice would crack if he were to raise it. "But, you must know that you are my only friend. I don't know why you put up with me. I'm an irritating freak and you're so… amazing. I may have never said it, but I would die for you any day of the week, John. You're…you're so important to me," he opened his eyes.

John's stomach did a flip and he felt like he could cry. How could he have ever thought this man to be an unfeeling machine? Sherlock simply functioned on a different level from other people. He didn't say how he felt because it made him uncomfortable. But just because he never said it in no way meant he lacked feelings. And how could John, the one who knew Sherlock better than anyone, have missed that?

His shaking hands cupped Sherlock's cheeks. "Sherlock," he said disbelievingly, "that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." He stroked the smooth skin with his thumbs.

Sherlock's hands covered John's. "John?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. You're not a freak. You are irritating, yes, but that's part of what makes you _you._"

He brought his lips so close to Sherlock's that they brushed together when he spoke, "And I wouldn't have you any other way, you beautiful bastard."

He ravished the perfect cupid's bow that belonged to his flatmate at long last. Sherlock's brain completely shut down. All he could think was _John, John, John. _He wrapped his arms around the shorter man's waist and opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. It was apparent that Sherlock didn't have any prior experience, but he wasn't bad at all. John smiled in the kiss. Of course the genius would be able to pick it up quickly. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and pulled him closer. John marveled at just how _right _it felt to kiss his best friend. _I should have done this a long, long time ago. _

The kiss broke for a desperate need for air. John took in Sherlock's disheveled appearance; curly hair tousled, cheeks flushed, beautiful lips red and wet. He kissed Sherlock's cheek. "How could I have been such an idiot?"

Sherlock, feeling a tad faint, clung to John for support. "John…"

John hugged Sherlock to his chest. "We're both idiots," he buried his nose in Sherlock's curls. "We should have done this years ago," he chuckled. He lifted Sherlock's face to his and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Sherlock, I know you haven't had much interest in this sort of thing in the past, but," John took in a nervous breath, and then smiled so warmly that the detective melted, "please, let me love you."

* * *

**Sooo that happened! God, I hope I didn't make it too OOC! **

**I like the headcanon that Lestrade helped Sherlock get off the drugs, by the way. :3 It makes me smile.**

**I apologize for a lack of plot. It was just a whole lot of tension, I know. But that's what you guys are here for, right?  
**

**Guys. I got 2 reviews last chapter. Two. One plus one. Two. Dos. I don't want to sound like a desperate hoe, but 2 reviews is not very encouraging...  
**

**So, for the fourth time, please review!~**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! Sorry for the late update. This chapter is...dirty. Very dirty! If you're not a fan of smut, avert your eyes!**

**Guys. Season 3 is done filming! It's so close I can almost taste it!**

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

Sherlock was certain John could hear his heartbeat. He blinked rapidly and swallowed thickly. John couldn't have said….the L-word. He must have misheard. He must have been _dreaming. _Oh god. This was too much. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back to prevent them from shaking. He cautiously looked at John.

John was smiling softly. That warm, gentle smile that made Sherlock feel so very wonderful.

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. "John…I…You have to know I'm not terribly experienced with…any of this," his cheeks were glowing, "and I'm not comfortable with emotions, but I do…care for you and want to pursue a relationship if you want to," his little confession ended in a whisper. He hated sounding so weak, so human. He wanted to curl into a little hole and never see the light again.

John's smile widened. _He's….adorable! _ He placed his hand under Sherlock's chin, making the embarrassed man look at him. "None of that matters to me," he told truthfully and kissed his cheek. "None of it. Don't worry, Sherlock. Okay?"

Sherlock could only nod.

John became aware of their surroundings. "Sherlock, don't you think we should get out of this lab?"

Sherlock tried to regain his composure. "Obviously, John. Why would we continue our activities here?"

"Activities?" John asked hesitantly and licked his lips.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, mate," John chuckled. Sherlock was as romantically experienced as a sack of potatoes. And while John found it amusing, he was also starting to find it completely endearing.

Sherlock smiled and relaxed a little.

John opened the lab door and turned his head with a smirk. "I mean, it's _okay _if we continue our _activities." _He walked out of the lab.

It took everything for Sherlock's jaw not to drop. John's tone dripped with seduction. Where did _that _come from?!

He remembered that one time, while he was reading through John's emails to one of his girlfriends, John told her about his old nickname in the army: Three-Continents Watson. Sherlock had scoffed. He wanted to confront John about it, but figured reading John's emails was filed under "A Bit Not Good."

But now, hearing John's voice drip with seduction and seeing him in action, Sherlock figured the nickname was accurate.

* * *

They drove back from the base in silence, Sherlock's mind racing anxiously and John considering the consequences of his actions. He cringed when his phone vibrated. Mary. He sighed and looked out the window, not bothering to see what she had to say. Damn, he was a bad man. A bad, bad man. He looked at Sherlock. His grip was tight on the steering wheel, and he was chewing on his bottom lip. A nervous habit. John looked away again. Mary didn't deserve this. Not at all. But, was it fair to her to continue their marriage when he was in love with this madman? His heart wasn't into it. John pushed down those thoughts for later. Right now, he had to think about how far he wanted to go with Sherlock.

The duo went straight to their bedroom after they got out of the car, still in silence. John hung up his coat and Sherlock mirrored his actions, shutting the door behind him and once again clasped his hands tightly behind his back.

He cleared his throat. "What do normal people do in situations like this?"

John blushed a little. "Well, they, to phrase it as you did, continue their activities."

Sherlock nodded. "Does that mean…"  
"It doesn't have to if you don't want it to."

"But does it normally mean that?"

"Usually, yes. But it's also _normal _to not."

"Interesting."

"Sherlock," John sighed and stepped closer. Sherlock backed up. "Sherlock," he repeated softer, "stop stressing so much."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said coolly.

"Really?" He stepped closer and watched Sherlock back up again. "So it's normal for you to back away from me?"

Sherlock didn't respond.

John was tired of fucking around so he walked right up to him so that there were mere centimeters between their bodies.

Sherlock's hands fell to his sides, his back now against the door. He desperately wanted to take John into his arms. But would that be too forward? Would it scare John away?

"Sherlock," John cupped his cheeks, his breath hot on Sherlock's face, "stop thinking."

Their lips met in a tender kiss. Sherlock sighed contently when John's thumbs stroked his face. His calloused hands were so gentle. He wrapped his arms around John's waist and pulled him close, leaving no room between their bodies. He made a little noise of surprise when he felt John's erection. _Well, shit. _His body started to respond.

John groaned and licked Sherlock's lower lip. The detective gasped and John slipped his tongue inside his mouth, exploring the new territory.

Sherlock was a bit surprised at how that felt. He was expecting it to feel…well, not like that. John's tongue felt hot, wet, and slimy. It kind of reminded him of a worm. However, something about it felt _good. _He growled deep in his throat, prompting John to rub his hard-on against his thigh (he wasn't tall enough to rub Sherlock's erection).

John's fingers found the top button to Sherlock's shirt. They broke away for a much-needed intake of air. John looked down at his fingers around the button, then back up at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded in response to the silent question and moved his hands from John's waist to grip his shoulders, steadying himself.

John unbuttoned the shirt while Sherlock watched with slight apprehension. John nipped at Sherlock's newly exposed collarbone and ran his hand down the pale, slender chest. The taller man shivered and attached his lips to John's neck, licking sensually. He felt the vibrations of John's chuckle beneath his lips.

"You sure you haven't done this before?"

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "Am I acceptable?"

"More than that," he slipped the shirt off Sherlock's shoulders. John couldn't help but openly stare. His chest looked delicious. It was lean but built. Sherlock had his plump lower lip between his teeth. The doctor tried to kiss his anxiety away.

"You're gorgeous." He kissed the tip of his nose.

"You're brilliant," he kissed his neck.

"Amazing," a kiss to the center of his chest.

"Fantastic," his kissed the heavenly lips.

Sherlock really had no idea how to respond.

John took his hands and slowly, just in case the sleuth changed his mind, guided them to their bed. He gently lowered them onto the bed, Sherlock on his back and John hovering protectively over him. His dark eyes were sparkling with adoration. Sherlock kissed him and tugged at his shirt.

John pulled away and he locked his eyes with his lover's (?), and he unbuttoned his shirt agonizingly slowly, a teasing smirk on his face.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Do hurry up, John."

"Impatient, are we?"

"Shut up," he decided to tear off the shirt and throw it the floor.

"If you ripped that, you're getting me another one."

"Don't care," muttered distantly, eyes scanning John's muscular, scarred body. John was beginning to feel rather self conscious when Sherlock's hand slid over his bad shoulder, over his chest, and down his stomach.

"Impressive, Captain," he mocked with a cheeky grin.

John glared at him. He grabbed Sherlock's wrists and pinned them on the pillow beside his head. He smirked when Sherlock's cockiness instantly morphed into nervousness and leaned down to his chest. Sherlock hissed when John's tongue found his nipple. He struggled against tight hold on his wrists.

"John," he whimpered weakly. He thrusted his hips up and the two groaned when their erections met. John nibbled at the sensitive skin on his chest and rubbed their erections again, straddling his waist. His cock twitched when he earned his first groan from Sherlock Holmes.

That was a sound he certainly could get used to.

"Sh-shouldn't we take off our pants?" Sherlock asked innocently through jagged breaths.

It took all John had not to giggle. If it wasn't for Sherlock's inexperience, admittedly, he would have been much more nervous. "If you would like to," he paused his ministrations to unzip Sherlock's pants, the other man chucking off his belt.

After some awkward maneuvering, they were naked and kissing each other senseless. Sherlock had felt very self conscious about taking off his underwear, but one look of lust from John sent it away.

Their hips were rocking together in a steady rhythm with Sherlock making small whimpers and moans, and John savoring each and every sound he made. He broke their kiss and held his fingers in front of Sherlock's lips. "Suck," he rasped.

Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion.

"It'll make it easier for…you know…I mean, it's not lube, but it's better than nothing."

A look of comprehension dawned on Sherlock's face. "Oh," he said simply and took the fingers into his mouth.

John really shouldn't have found the sight of Sherlock sucking his fingers as erotic as he did, but he moaned and pulled his hand back.

He gently inserted his first finger and placed wet kisses on Sherlock's chest when he moaned loudly.

Sherlock blushed at the sound he made. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to categorize the feeling of John's finger inside of him. It didn't necessarily hurt. It was just…interesting. It was weird and different and _god that feels good. _

"More," the word slipped out without his consent.

After a few minutes and two fingers later, John found his prostate. Sherlock gasped loudly and his back arched off the bed.

"What was that?" he asked with wide eyes.

"Surely you know your anatomy," John spread his fingers once more before pulling them out (not missing the tiny huff of disappointment from his friend). He lined himself up and put one hand on the headboard, the other hand on the pillow next to Sherlock's head.

"I'll be gentle. I'll try to make it as painless as possible, okay?"

"I trust you," he wrapped his arms around John's neck, taking a deep breath.

John smiled warmly. How many other people had Sherlock's trust the way he did?

John slowly pushed in. Their moans filled the room and a part of John that wasn't thinking _Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock _really hoped the people in the next room couldn't hear them.

"G-give me," Sherlock gasped, "a minute." It had hurt a little bit, but Sherlock was forever grateful that John was so careful.

John kissed Sherlock's face- his forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheeks- to try to calm him down, and to prevent himself from thrusting into the hot, tight muscle. _God, his ass is amazing._

Sherlock moved his hips and John knew he was okay to go.

John set up a slow, gentle rhythm. "Oh god, Sherlock, I can't believe I'm finally inside you," he moaned.

Sherlock wrapped his long legs around John's waist and squeezed with a groan. The pain was gone and now he knew why ordinary people had sex so much.

John was growling and grunting and Sherlock thought he was the most beautiful thing in the world. He shut his eyes. This was getting to be too much for him. The new sensations were fucking fantastic. Plus, this was _John. _His John, whom he cared about more than anyone in the world. John was his world and he missed him so damn much when he was with Mary. How could he have let him get away?

But now, he was felt like his heart was going to explode.

"Look at me," John commanded in his no-nonsense tone.

Sherlock didn't comply and muffled his moan in the pillow.

"I want to hear and see you," John growled with a particularly forceful thrust into Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock nearly yelled and his fingernails dug into the skin of John's neck.

"Right there, huh?" he hit the spot again with full force.

"Oh, John!" he threw his head back and squeezed his legs even tighter. "Faster!"

John happily complied. Sherlock looked like pure sex. His head was thrown back, his curly hair a mess on the pillows, his perfect mouth opened in a heart shape and his chest heaving with moans. John almost wanted to take a picture.

Sherlock's hands fell from their position and fumbled for John's. John kept his one hand steadying himself on the headboard, but grabbed Sherlock's hand with his other, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tightly.

"I can't," Sherlock couldn't get the words out through his pants, "…John…I'm going to…"

"Let go, Sherlock," he grabbed Sherlock's neglected, leaking cock. "I've got you."

A few strokes combined with the pounding into his prostate sent Sherlock over the edge.

"John!" Sherlock cried out and arched off the bed, riding the waves of his orgasm.

The feeling of Sherlock's tight walls clamping around him made John come right after with a groaned, "Sherlock."

John pulled out and collapsed beside Sherlock. John tried to catch his breath and turned his head to his bedmate.

The madman was lying on his side and was looking thoroughly relaxed, eyes closed. The good doctor reached out and brushed a sweaty curl from his forehead.

Sherlock lazily opened his eyes. "Well, we've made a mess."

John laughed at his comment shuffled closer to him. "Indeed." His smile faltered slightly. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you?"

"No, John. It was…wonderful. Really," he shyly averted his eyes. "Was it okay for you?"

"Better than okay," John chuckled. He lifted the sheets and cuddled under them. "Joining me?"

Sherlock wiggled under the sheets and latched onto John, burying his face in the broad chest.

"Are you a cuddler, Sherlock Holmes?" he ran his fingers through the silky curls. He laughed at the look of disgust Sherlock gave him. "Well, I'm a cuddler, so get used to it," he wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and squeezed.

"Idiot," Sherlock's fake insult was interrupted by a yawn. "Mmm, I hate being tired."

"Normal people actually enjoy sleep, you know."

"Boring."

John's phone vibrated from somewhere in the room. "Crap," he sat up and looked around. "Where did you throw my pants?"

Sherlock shrugged.

John got out of bed and quickly searched through the discarded clothes on the floor. His stomach dropped when he found his phone.

_Incoming call: Mary_

Fuck. He forgot all about her. He sat on the floor near the edge of the bed and answered, "Hello?"

"John." Uh oh. She sounded pissed. "You haven't answered me since yesterday afternoon. Is something wrong?"

"Umm…" he looked to Sherlock, who was just giving him a look of mild interest. "We've just been busy, you know?"

"John," she sighed, "you know I worry about you when you're on these cases."

"I know, Mary."

Sherlock crawled to the edge of the bed and rested his head on John's shoulder. John briefly nuzzled Sherlock's nose with his before turning back to his conversation with his wife.

"This case is a real tricky one."

"I just…feel like we're growing apart," she said quietly.

John should have been more upset by this. "You think so?"

"You don't?"

John sighed, "Mary…"

"This isn't a conversation to have over the phone," she said. "Goodbye, John. Good luck with the case."

"No, Mary-"

She hung up.

John put down his phone. "I'm the worst husband in the world." He looked at the ring on his finger. The whole situation made him feel sick to his stomach.

"What will you do?" the baritone in his ear made John blush.

"I don't know," he ran his hand through his disheveled hair. "I can't keep this up."

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the floor. "John. I understand if you want to forget about what we just did."

John's eyes widened. "…Why would I do that? Do you want to forget about it?"

"No!" he said quickly. "Maintaining your marriage with Mary would be much easier than getting a divorce and having to explain everything to family and friends. Also, Mary is safe. Mary's good. I'm not."

"But I don't want Mary. I want you."

"Why did you marry her?!" he snapped and crawled back near the pillows, grabbing one and cradling it against his chest.

John stared at his friend sadly. He had been the best man at his wedding, and John could distinctly remember Sherlock disappearing at some point during the reception. When he asked Lestrade about it, he said, "He didn't look too well. I guess he went home. Might have had too much to drink." The possibility that his best friend was heartbroken hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Oh, Sherlock." He climbed into bed. Sherlock rolled over so his back was facing him. Great. Here comes the sulking. He pet the messy curls. "How could I have left you?"

"You tell me," was the bitter response.

"I didn't know I love you," he admitted. "I was an idiot. I know."

Sherlock still wasn't looking at him. "I always knew…"

John put his hand on his pale shoulder. "Always knew what?"

"Not important." Before John could press the matter any further, he rolled over and said, "John, if you're serious-"

"I am. I would never lie to you."

Sherlock's eyes were scanning John's face, looking for a sign that he was lying. John opened his arms. "Come here."

Sherlock scanned him for another moment, then snuggled into his embrace.

"John, if you truly desire a life with me, you have to inform Mary; for her sake, and for ours."

* * *

**My god, the majority of that chapter was sex! There was no fucking plot! I apologize for that.**

**How was the sex scene? This is my first M-rated story, so I'm a bit nervous as to how this turned out. Please let me know if it was too gross or too vague or whatever.**

**Oh, and thank you for reviewing last chapter! :D It made me so happy.**

**Please review!~**


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